


way down we go

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: AU, Drabbles, F/M, Hate Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sharon Carter Appreciation Day, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:47:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles for Sharon Carter Appreciation Day - the smutty version</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. save me from myself steve/sharon

**Author's Note:**

> _prompt: Madame Hydra Sharon bootycalling Steve_
> 
>  
> 
> Background: After a couple posts saying that Sharon is secretly Hydra and thus shouldn't be with Steve, Sharon fans sort of embraced the concept and turned it into a joke. Another part of it is a picture of a robe that is incredibly elegant and sheer. I'll try to find the picture and post a link. Until then, please enjoy!

She opened the door to find Captain America standing in the hallway, rainwater dripping onto her welcome mat. She stepped aside to let him in. “Already wet, and we haven’t even started,” she teased. She’d left him a voicemail the day before about how she felt lonely and wanted some company. After he hadn’t responded, she’d resorted to texting. She’d even used one of her spy satellites to make sure he was all right.

His eyes flashed as he stepped over the threshold, and her heart thumped a little harder in response. Disgust and hatred. The pain of betrayal. It had happened, had it? He’d found out.

“I only came to- We need to break up.”

Sharon smiled sadly. So he had found out and wanted to be honorable. It was sweet of him, really. One of the things she would have appreciated years ago. But the person she was now couldn’t resist needling him. “You sure? You don’t think we could make it as one of those couples that fight all the time?”

He looked at her oddly, realization blooming to life in his eyes. “You know why I’m dumping you.”

She shrugged. “Does it matter?” She stepped nearer to him. “We can still say good-bye, right?”

He stepped away. “You’re Hydra. You’re _Madame_ Hydra.”

There it was. She smirked. “Took you long enough.”

He stared at her, his eyes pained. “You’re the person I’ve been fighting to destroy for years now, and you- you made me think-”

“I didn’t make you think anything.” Her voice was firm. “I like you, Steve. I do. I could even love you if I didn’t remember everything.”

“Remember everything?”

She looked at him as if he were a bit of rotten flesh stuck to her heel. “You left me for _dead,_ Steve. Everyone did. Remember what people said when it turned out I _wasn’t_ dead? Fury said he would have told people I was alive if he knew I had survived. Everyone else? Just ‘Long time, no see.’ Did you really think I’d be _okay_ with that? Remember when you said you loved me, and then I went through _hell_ for _five years_ and you hadn’t even noticed I was gone?”

“I thought you were dead,” he snapped. “If I’d known-”

“Thanks for verifying it,” she cut in. “You could have saved me, but you didn’t. And after, you really thought I’d be loyal to _SHIELD?_ The same people who told everyone I was dead because I missed a checkpoint? For God’s sake, Steve, I showed up with the Skull and saved your life. That didn’t mean anything to you? That I managed to make the _Skull_ do what I wanted?”

They stood facing each other, staring each other down.

“You’ve been Hydra since then,” he said at last.

She stared at him in incomprehension. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

“I’m Captain America, Sharon. If you’re Hydra-”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I get it. You disgust me sometimes, too.”

“I _what?_ ”

“Disgust me,” she said slowly, as if she were talking to a child. “Your holier-than-thou attitude, your precious need to always be right.” His eyes narrowed, but she met his glare head-on. “Whenever you say someone is dead, everyone believes you. It happened to me. It happened to Bucky-”

“Stop.”

She shrugged. “Just saying.”

They stood in silence as the seconds ticked by.

“So are reinforcements waiting outside to arrest me?” she asked at last.

He shifted his weight. “I wouldn’t do that. Yet. I just- this is your warning. We won’t meet on friendly terms again.”

Her warning. God. She sneered and took another step away from him. “In that case, you’d better take off your uniform and get in bed while I slip into something more comfortable.”

There was a sound deep in his throat. “Excuse me?”

She looked over her shoulder as she moved down the hall. “It’s our last time together, Steve. And I’ve been trying to get you over here for a booty call for over twenty-four hours now. So... let’s say good-bye properly, and then we never need to meet on friendly terms again.”

He stared after her, and she paused at the doorway to the kitchen. Making her eyes as big as she could, she turned back to him. “Maybe, if you’re really good, you can save me from myself.”

He glared at her. “You’re full of it, Sharon. If you think that I-”

She sighed. “It’s not a death-trap, Steve. I’m not trying to screw you over. I’m just trying to screw you.”

“You’re _Hydra._ ”

She leaned against the doorway. “I’m your girlfriend, Steve. Just trying to say good-bye, because once you leave, you’ll be my ex. Forever, most likely.” She straightened and used the same tone on him that she used on her minions. “So get your clothes off and get in that bed.” Without looking back, she disappeared into the kitchen.

On her way to the bedroom, she ducked into her spare bedroom and pulled up the floor in the closet. It took her a couple moments of rifling before she found it, but in minutes she had changed and picked up the tray to take back to her bedroom.

She was relieved to see him waiting for her there. He was standing, his uniform jacket off to reveal his T-shirt. He still wore the boots and trousers, though. Nonetheless, the plain, white T-shirt paired with his armored uniform was attractive enough that she couldn’t complain.

He stared at her, seemingly thinking the same of her sheer robe, thin enough for him to see hints of her nipples and the thatch of hair between her legs.

She set the tray on the bedside table, passing him without a glance. “You’re not naked in my bed, Steve.”

“Still not sure about this,” he said absently. “Where the hell did you get _that?_ ”

She smiled at him over her shoulder. “I figured if this was our last time, I wouldn’t waste time on lies.” She walked over and tucked her fingers in his waistband, pulling him back toward the bed. “What do you say, Steve? I know you always hold back during sex. And before, when I was Sharon Carter, SHIELD agent, you had to be careful with that good, innocent little shit. But this me?” She turned him around, his back to the bed, and leaned in to inhale his scent. Damn it. As much as he disgusted her, he smelled _good._ “This me likes it a little rough.” She shoved him, and he fell back onto her bed, bouncing on the mattress.

“A little rough,” he echoed, propping himself up on his elbows to watch her.

She set her hands on her hips, widening her stance as if she were about to fight. His eyes fell to where her robe parted at her thighs, enough to tease without showing anything. “Honest sex for the first and last time in our lives,” she said. “Since God knows we haven’t been honest about much else.” She raised an eyebrow. “Now take it off, Steve.”

“Is that how you talk to your minions, Sharon?” He didn’t sound happy, but he still slowly pulled off his T-shirt. 

She leaned over him and took one of his nipples in her teeth, biting down hard enough to make him moan. “Do you want me to talk to you like I do my minions, Steve?”

“No,” he choked out. “I want you to give up on being Hydra and come back to me.”

She reached up to cup his cheek, and he leaned his head into it, covering her hand with his own. “You never had me, Steve. And you never will. Do you want to have this, though? This last night?”

He reached out and brushed his fingers along her cheek, hesitated, and then moved his hand to her chest. 

The warmth of it, the rough callouses that she could feel through the thin material, made her gasp, and she glared at him before swatting his hand away. “Clothes off, Rogers.”

He smirked, but finally opened his trousers. As she had suspected, he was already hard, and he breathed a small sigh of relief as his erection was freed.

She ignored his hands and pushed his boxers down to take him in her mouth, sucking hard enough to make him hiss and curse. She wrapped her hands around his length and stroked him as she worked on his head. Steve’s cock had been huge for as long as she’d known him - she’d never asked about his size before his transformation - and he’d always been careful not to hurt her, to treat her as if she were precious. It was one of the things that had first pissed her off, even before he’d left her for dead. She wasn’t weak. She was his equal. She might not be a super soldier, but she wasn’t some precious girl who couldn’t take a good fuck.

She set out to prove it to him, taking more and more of him into her mouth, into her throat, stroking his balls with her fingers just enough to make him wonder if she’d hurt him, until he whimpered on the bed, his fingers lost in her hair.

She knew the sounds he made when he was about to come, and she slowly pulled off of him, not wanting him to have the satisfaction just yet.

He stared at her, his eyes fogged and unseeing, and she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

“I told you to take your clothes off, soldier.”

He was perfectly still for a moment, and then there was a burst of speed and his boots, uniform pants, and boxers were tossed in a neat pile in the corner.

She nodded at the pile in approval and turned back to face him. He looked back, waiting and expectant, his cock hard and topped with a drop of cum that she wanted to lick away. She licked her lips, took a breath to maintain control over herself, and walked to the foot of the bed. The train of her robe trailed after her and tugged at her skin in a way that was harder to ignore than usual.

She waved to the bed. “Spread eagle.”

He hesitated, glanced at the flowered comforter. “Seriously?”

Sharon pursed her lips. “Steve. Every time you hesitate just tells me I’ll have to punish you more later.”

His eyes danced. “Punish me, huh?”

She leaned closer. “Do you want me to go get the toys? I can’t promise to let you like them.”

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time, his gaze drinking in her body. “I don’t think you’ll do it, Sharon. I know you.”

She smirked. Without looking at him, she dug out a restraint from each corner of the bed.

“Seriously?” he muttered.

She held one up for him to see. “They’re operated in part by electromagnetic fields. I never knew when you’d find out about me, so I had to be prepared. I lock you in place with one of these, set it, and whenever it moves too far from where it’s supposed to be, it will inject you with a numbing agent.” She tugged on one of the cuffs, the cable it was attached to holding firm to the bedframe. “You’ll have to be careful not to break the rope, though. You’re probably strong enough. Which should reassure you that, again, I don’t intend to kill you. Just fuck you.” She leaned in, trailing the cuff down his arm. “So what do you say, Steve? Do you trust me?”

“You’re Hydra,” he whispered.

“And you could have snapped me like a twig all the years we were together, and now you have motive to.” She sat on the edge of the bed, angled so he could see down her robe. “This is our last night together, Steve. At least have sex with the real me.”

He reached over and tested the rope. “You don’t have stronger restraints? What, couldn’t hide them in here when I spent the night before?”

“Yeah.” His eyes flew to her face, and she shrugged. “If I could get the restraints we designed specifically to hold you, I would. But they’re big and ungainly.” As of yet. “And you would have noticed.” She cupped his cheek. “I would have set you loose again in the morning, Steve. Just like I’m going to set you loose when we’re done tonight.”

Not breaking her gaze, he held his arm out to her. She reached to secure the cuff around it, then found herself in his arms, his mouth pressed against hers. Even as she melted against him, she recognized the kiss. Steve’s kisses had improved since they’d started dating, and she’d learned that he kissed differently in different circumstances. This one was meant to consume her.

She pulled away, gasping for breath, and he lightly stroked her jaw.

“If you’d told me you were into kinky stuff, maybe-”

She scowled and sprang away from the bed. “You’re wasting time, Steve. _Spread eagle._ ”

Still, he was in no hurry to make himself comfortable as he slid into place. “I’m just saying, Sharon. It’s not too late to make us work.”

Wordlessly, she slid the cuff around one wrist, made sure the rope was taut, and set a couple of buttons. She’d give him two inches in any direction. Just two. She reasoned that he had enough control to make it work. She did the same with his ankles and his other wrist, then left the room again.

He was right to think she didn’t have many sex toys, she thought sourly. The robe had been an indulgence. The cuffs, mostly a temporary safety precaution. But she did have a few things that would do in a pinch. A ruler that his Catholic upbringing might appreciate, a knife. She didn’t even have a feather duster.

She hadn’t planned on her last night with him going quite like it had.

She took the ruler, knife, and a few other pieces back to the bedroom and found Steve rotating one of his feet. “What’s the matter, darling?” she cooed. “Is it numb?”

He glared at her. “This had better be temporary, Shar-”

She pulled out the ruler and smacked him hard across his chest, intentionally hitting a nipple. He hissed air through his teeth. “Don’t make me gag you,” she threatened. She set the knife beside his head and arranged the other objects on the bedside table where he could see. “Keep mouthing off, and at least one of these is going in your ass. I really want to put the soldier with the rifle up there, too, so don’t test me.”

It wasn’t until he closed his mouth in a dour line that she climbed onto the bed and straddled his legs. He looked from his cock, to her breasts, to her face.

“You always fucked me like a gentleman, Steve. Do you want that now?” She trailed a finger along his cock, his abs clenching in response. “Soft and slow, like you’re afraid if we make too much noise my father might come to chase you off? Or do you want to have sex where we aren’t so fucking goddamn afraid of violating decades-old social mores?” She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed, pumping him up and down.

He grunted, groaned, his hips rising beneath her. He moaned when he shifted his legs, and she impatiently moved his ankles back before crawling over his body, this time giving his cock plenty of distance.

“Am I to understand,” she said calmly, “that you would like the second option?”

He nodded jerkingly and turned his head to kiss her, but she pulled away and knelt over his cock, red and thick and hard. She knew from experience that it was best to take him in slowly when they hadn’t seen each other for a while.

But she wasn’t interested in what was best. She was going to prove to him that she wasn’t made of glass, that she didn’t need his protection.

She situated herself over him, teased him with her opening, watched his nostrils flare and his hands clench, and then pushed downward, fast and hard, making her gasp and cry out.

“You okay?” he asked in concern even as his hips rose toward her.

She pressed down on his chest and pushed herself up, grinding against him. “Stop fucking asking if I’m okay,” she snapped. “Do I look broken to you?”

He swallowed and made a sound deep in his throat. His hips continued to rock, and bent down to whisper in his ear.

“Stop moving, Steven, or so help me God I’m getting a switch.”

His breath stirred her hair as he exhaled. “You like using a switch, Sharon?” He turned his head to kiss her throat.

She raised her chin so he couldn’t reach. “You telling me you like pain?”

He looked between them, and she sank onto him a little more, going slow, so slow, wanting to taunt him. Wanting to hurt him.

Without more warning than a look in his eye, his hand was around the rope keeping it in place, and he pulled. She had just enough time to cry out in alarm before the rope snapped and his arm was around her, his hips shifting to pin her to the mattress. “What do you thi- _Shit._ ”

The ropes at his ankles held firm. He tried to flip the two of them over again to no avail, and he fell back in place on his back. Sharon sat on him and laughed.

Leaning over, she bit his neck. “I think you’re an idiot, Steve. But I can work with that.”

His fingers pinched her nipple through the sheer fabric of her robe, and she gasped against his skin.

“Imagine all the fun we could have been having,” she said mournfully. She straightened and pulled his hand to where their bodies met. “Let’s see if you can figure out how to get me off.”

He smirked up at her. “I know how to get you off, Sharon.”

She looked at him flatly, and his smirk faltered. She shook her head. “You fucked me like a boy in seminary school, Steve. Did you really never notice that you got me off faster when I had to be up early the next day?”

He swallowed, and she stroked his chest, the touch almost soft.

“That’s part of the problem, Steve. You never really paid attention. You took too much at face value. You never cherished me, not like you said you did, or else you would have paid attention. You would have listened. But you couldn’t be bothered to look for me when I was left for dead.”

“If I’d have known-”

“Shh, shh.” She tsked. “I don’t care what you would have done differently. I care what you did and didn’t do.” She shifted her hand, resting her nails against his flesh. “And I hate what you did and didn’t do.” She drew her nails down his chest, and his breath hissed through his teeth. She ground against him. “Now try to get me off for real, _Captain._ ”

There was a flash of something in his eyes, looking suspiciously like hate, but then it was gone and his fingers were there, working away, and God was he ever bad at this. She should have shown him how to do this ages ago, but he’d always thought she didn’t know what she was talking about, because of course not, what would she ever know about a woman’s body. But now she moved his hand, his fingers, showing him, and he took over, and his fingers were smooth and calloused and rough and deft and she was grinding and breathing and closing her eyes and it almost felt good no it felt good and she ground harder and leaned forward and bit his chest, marking him even though the marks would fade and then he had another hand at her hips, moving her, guiding her, and she was confused until she felt their bodies moving down the bed so he could get to the ropes at the foot of the bed and she shook her head but then she was coming and coming and she couldn’t be bothered to care and fuck it she’d deal, right now she was coming and she wanted it.

She settled limply against him, but his hips still moved. Slowly, panting, she sat up. She wasn’t surprised that he had escaped of his cuffs. He was Steve Rogers, she wouldn’t expect any less.

He stared up at her as if he’d never seen her before, and she tossed a sweaty tendril of hair over her shoulder as if completely unaffected by the man she straddled or the cock within her. He half-sat, gathered her in his arms, and then pushed off the bed. He aimed for the wall, but the numbing agent in the cuffs had done what it was designed to, and he fell on top of her instead.

She grunted in pain, and he immediately asked, “Are you-” before catching her glare. “Fuck it,” he muttered, and he shoved into her, fucking her, and she writhed beneath him, pleased by how little he held back, thrusting into her again and again until he came, his body clenching over hers before turning limp.

She clapped a hand against his shoulder, her breath ragged, her body pleasantly sore. “One more time on the floor,” she instructed him, “then against the wall.”

The super soldier serum within him helped him oblige, and he even fucked her with her sitting on her dresser, her back to her mirror and a pair of earrings digging into her hip. He slowed and nodded to the mirror. “You really want me to believe,” he said, voice tight, “that you want to be Hydra?” He nuzzled her throat. “I can save you, Sharon.”

She looked at her reflection in the mirror, sweaty and unkempt. Unclean. Rough. Bruised. Battered. Scarred. Skin holding muscle and nightmares. She frowned at him. “When I need to be saved, Rogers, I’ll let you know. Right now, I just need your cock.” She turned to face him. “Obey me in this, Steve.” She leaned forward and caught his ear lobe between her teeth. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

She did. She was a woman of her word.

When Steve was panting on her carpet, his limbs loose and languid, she forced herself not to fall down beside him and instead stepped over him. The robe had come undone during their first fuck against the wall, the rags of it held to her skin by sweat and the tie around her middle. She undid the knot and let the robe’s remains fall to the floor. He watched her as she left the room, and a minute later found her cleaning herself up with a quick, cold shower.

He stepped in with her and hissed at the cold water. “Are we going to talk?”

She smiled at him as she stepped out and wrapped a towel around her. “What’s to talk about, Steve?” She headed back to the bedroom, drying herself as she selected an outfit.

“What are you doing?”

She didn’t bother to look at him. “Going on the run. SHIELD’s going to be pissed off. The Avengers, too, probably.” She pulled her emergency kit from underneath the bed. She’d lived on the run for too long not to have one. She could disappear in a heartbeat if she had to.

She dropped into a chair and pulled over a pair of sneakers.

“You could stay,” he said, and she glanced at him, the toned body on full display.

“It doesn’t matter to you, does it.”

“Of _course_ it does,” he said vehemently. “You’re too good for-”

“That I overpowered the Red Skull,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “I was Director of SHIELD. A placeholder for Fury. And I did what I was supposed to. And now I lead Hydra. Even the Skull has to figure out how to take power away from me. And he won’t do it; I’m better than he is. Hydra is mine. They do what I tell them to. They obey me.” She leaned back in her chair and swung her shod feet. “Like you did last night.”

He looked abashed, and she grinned.

“Come on, soldier boy. You need to hydrate. We both do.” She slung her emergency kit over her shoulder and led the way to the kitchen, tossing him a water bottle. “If you weren’t so self-righteous, I’d say we could keep doing this. On the sly, of course.” She watched him as she took a gulp of her own water. “That was better sex than we’ve had in ages.”

He swallowed. In his discomfort, or possibly to cover it up, he drank the bottle in a matter of seconds. “I _will_ have to chase you,” he confirmed.

She nodded. “And what you do with me when you find me is up to you. Well. Up to me, really, but maybe I’ll let you pretend to have some control. Get some real toys, too.”

He smacked his lips together, confusion flitting against his features, and she drifted closer.

“I can’t pretend to be weak anymore,” she murmured. “Or controlled. I refuse to be. I’m in power now, Steve.”

“You drugged me?” He stared at the bottle in disbelief, his body swaying.

“You’ll be out of it just long enough for me to get away.” She kissed his cheek. “Until next time, Steve.” She headed down the hall and stopped at the door to wink at him. “We’ll see who saves who.”

She knew, even as she watched him slump toward the floor and let herself out of the apartment that she would never see again, that she would never be able to convince him to join Hydra, just as he could never convince her to join SHIELD. 

But there were other things they could do.


	2. the other notebook: public displays of affection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For @agentdaisybarnes: *cough cough*semi public sex*cough cough*

_He steps into the bedroom, tired after after a long day, and finds Sharon lying on her stomach, legs swinging lazily behind her, her ankles crossed. In her hands is a tan notebook._

_He isn’t concerned; she’s read his notebook before. She’s even made notations in it to tell him that no, Rick Astley is_ not _a musical legend. Do_ not _listen to Tony._

_He heads to the bathroom, then stops. He walks backward, looks again at the notebook. It isn’t the notebook where he writes down things he needs to catch up with._

_No, it’s the_ other _one._

_He gulps._

_“I can tell you right now,” she says without looking up. “We aren’t doing tentacle sex.”_

_On the bright side, he knows that he hasn’t entirely forgotten how it feels to want to crawl into a hole and die from humiliation._

_And then it occurs to him - if they weren’t doing tentacle sex, that implied there was something they_ were _doing._

_This time, he gulps for entirely different reasons._

* * *

They discuss it. He wants to try sex in public. Not with people watching, necessarily, but with the _risk_ of them seeing.

He wants to make her come while everyone around them is oblivious.

The restaurant is upscale, dimly lit, large booths lining the wall with heavy, solid tables blocking their laps from view. His collar has felt too tight ever since he stepped into the restaurant. It doesn’t help that Sharon keeps looking at him as if she knows exactly what he’s thinking. But of course she does. She was the one who secured the reservation.

If he didn’t know her so well, he could swear she’s evil. It hasn’t escaped his attention that she’s worn a shorter dress than usual, and he’s also pretty sure it’s new. Maybe even bought for this exact occasion.

They’ve only just been seated and told their waiter will be with them momentarily when Steve turns to her and captures her lips with his own. He wants to say thank you, wants to say that he is terrified and turned on, but he can’t wait any longer and his hand slides between her legs, pushing up her skirt and brushing roughly against lace panties. She gasps against his lips, and he looks at her only to find her trying to survey their surroundings, trying not to lose herself in his touch, and he thinks of how hot it makes her look and presses his finger against the cloth before brushing it aside. One finger dips inside, then two, and Sharon covers his hand with both of hers, keeping it there and pulling it closer; she turns her face toward his. Her breaths are quiet, and he pulls away to watch her face, the way she fights to keep her eyes open, her senses alert.

He grins.

“Hi! I’m Ryan, and I’ll be your server-”

Steve jumps, his knee knocking the table and rattling the glasses. Only Sharon’s grip on his hand tightens and keeps his arm in place. “Uh, hi!” he says, too fast and too loud.

He looks at Sharon. Her face is red, and it’s not all from trying to stifle her laughter. “Two waters,” she says quickly.

“Right away, ma’am. Sorry for surprising you!” Ryan gives them an apologetic smile. “Would you care to see our wine menu for the evening?”

“Please,” Sharon says, and Steve wishes she didn’t lick her lips when she says that word. He mentally adds something more to the list as she accepts the menu.

Steve quickly moves his hand to her inner thigh. Then her knee. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what to do with his hand. Where to keep it. How close is too close, or how far is too far, and how do people even _do_ this?

Alone at last, Sharon leans her head against his shoulder. She laughs softly. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t concentrate on wine right now.”

“Let’s go,” he chokes out, because he can’t, either. He moves to pull tip money from his wallet, but Sharon makes a sound and shoves a cloth napkin into his hands, and he realizes that she is on his fingers, the nectar of her. He looks at her and wants to lick his fingers clean while she watches, but he isn’t sure it’s just his imagination that makes him think everyone is now watching. He quickly wipes his fingers clean on the cloth napkin and then stares at it.

He looks to Sharon, his voice frozen in his throat. What’s the proper way to dispose of a fancy napkin used to clean up... uh... how should he say this? Everything sounds so vulgar now, even in his head.

She grabs the napkin and stuffs it in her purse.

He stares at her.

She stares back.

He tries to speak, points at her purse.

She makes a face, points to his wallet.

He throws enough money for a full meal on the table. She grabs his hand, and their walk out of the restaurant is a blur. He knows she sets a normal pace, but he feels like everyone is staring at them anyway. At least his pants aren’t tented; their near-discovery took care of that.

They don’t slow down for a taxi. Both of them are too wired, too nervous and excited. He starts to think that they might walk all the way home, but then he notices the alleys. The empty alleys.

He tugs her into one, pulls her behind a dumpster so they won’t be seen from the street. He looks at her, and she cases their surroundings. 

“We can knock out two,” she suggests. “Public and wall. Please don’t let my bare ass touch the wall, though. I don’t trust it.”

He grins and takes off his jacket, draping it around her shoulders. She smiles up at him and shoves her arms through the sleeves, and then he pushes forward, pinning her against the wall and hitching her leg to his waist. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he kisses her as his hips move against hers.

He kisses her neck, and her breath grows heavy and hot against his hair. His fingers glide along her skin, and he pulls his hips away enough to push his fingers between them, into her.

She groans quietly and drops her head to his shoulder, and he pushes in another finger, another, his cock aching for her. She pulls herself up, her legs wrapping around his waist in a silent challenge to put distance between them, but he won’t rise to the challenge. He doesn’t want distance. He wants to sink into her, to pin her against the wall with his cock, to ram into her until she’s writhing against him.

“FUCK YEAH, BRO! GIVE IT TO HER!”

He lifts his head toward the street. Surely they hadn’t been spotted. The dumpster-

Sharon slaps his shoulder. “Apartment building,” she gasps. “Apartment building apartment building apartment building.”

Steve looks the other way, sees a guy in his undershirt giving them both a thumbs-up. The man gyrates his hips, and Steve looks at Sharon in horror.

“HOW MUCH?” the man shouts down. “SEE IF SHE’LL LET ME JOIN IN FOR TEN BUCKS! NO. BARTER! FIVE, MAN. FIVE!”

“We should go before he starts masturbating,” she says quickly. “Not that I mind people watching, but I think I want to know the people watching.”

She grabs his hand, and he follows her as he adds something more to the list. 

On the street, she hands him the cloth napkin. He wipes his hands again and, not knowing what to do with the napkin, hands it back to her.

She stuffs it into her purse again and stares at him.

They walk without speaking. He doesn’t dare pull her into another alley. He should apologize, he thinks, but how does he apologize for that.

“You’re worth more than ten dollars,” he stumbles out.

She stares at him, taken aback.

“Way more. Plus tax!”

They reach his door, and he wonders why they’re here. He’s surprised she hasn’t kicked him in the balls and left him on the street.

He unlocks the door, because he isn’t sure what else to do, and she slides inside. She heads to his bedroom, and, curious, he follows. She can’t possibly think they’re going to have sex. He’s ruined this. Whatever this is, she’ll probably never fuck him again now. Or speak to him.

She pulls up the blinds in his bedroom, opens the windows. “HEY, ASSHOLES. I’M GONNA FUCK THIS GUY!”

She turns to Steve, a scared but hopeful grin on her face.

A second later, Steve hears a faint, “GREAT, BITCH. FUCK HIM. NOBODY FUCKING CARES.”

He grins back.

“Anybody can see in,” she suggests.

“Or hear us,” he agrees, already unbuttoning his shirt. His jacket falls in a puddle at her feet.

“Only if you make me scream.” She beckons him over, and his grin widens as he closes in on her.

The next morning, he wakes to see the sun shining through the hazy, smudged outlines of her ass, back, and hands on his bedroom window. He rolls over to kiss her, and she moans.

“What’s next on the list?”


End file.
